


It's the final countdown!

by Akira14



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14
Summary: Yeah, yeah, yet another collection of drabbles and flashfics.These, however, are all part of a fandom event (go look for SkamItaliaFandomEvents on Tumblr) to keep the fandom alive as we wait for S4.As usual, pairings and language are here in the summary:1 - ENG, Nicotino (prompt: città eterna)2 - ENG, Elippo (prompt: città eterna)3 - ENG, Eleonora-Silvia-Nico (prompt: verde, bianco, rosso)4 - ENG, Restaurant AU, Nicotino (prompt: four seasons)5 - ITA, Teacher!Nico AU, Nicotino (prompt: festival)6 - ITA, POV Maddelena, gen (prompt: underdogs)7 - ENG, POV Martino, Nicotino (prompt: secrets)
Relationships: Elia Santini/Filippo Sava, Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 32
Kudos: 15
Collections: Final Countdown Weeks (1st May 2020 - 14th May 2020)





	1. Made in Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Ginny and Michela, they know why ❤️

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes he does feel blessed to be alive.  
When he wakes up a little earlier than the rest of the city, and gets to see the sunrise paint the marble with the softest shades of yellow and orange. When it bathes the roofs of little cafés that are opening for the early birds, and what had seemed like an eternal slumber is slowly coming to an end.  
It’s beautiful. Breathtaking.

And it wouldn’t be the same anywhere else, would it?  
Suddenly, he feels the needs to discuss it with Martino.  
Who won’t be happy about being woken up at 6 a.m., but Nico knows a trick or two on how to appease him by now.

“Marti!” No answer, of course. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaartiiiiii…” He insists, jumping back on the bed and kissing his nose. “Are you awake?”

“Huh? Wha…” He stretches, yawning, and glares when Niccolò’s hands slip under his T-shirt to tickle him. That doesn’t deter him, of course, and he has to be stopped with a pillow to his face. “Well, now I am. What is it?”

“Couldn’t it be just that I wanted to make out with my handsome boyfriend?” Nico retorts, moving away after a quick peck to Marti’s lips to stare at the ceiling.

“Nope. You’ve got thoughts to share, or a burning question that couldn’t wait until breakfast. So… Shoot.” He turns to face Nico, stroking his cheek with his knuckles as he waits for him to speak.

“Do… Do you ever wonder what it’d be like, if you weren’t born here?” How different would they be, if they had been raised in Milan? Turin? Or Florence. Would have they still found each other, somehow?

“I wasn’t.” That was absolutely not what Niccolò had been expecting.

“Huh?”

“I was born in Lucca. My parents met while they were attending Uni in Tuscany, but then my father got a job in Rome when I was about 2…” There a bit of nostalgia in his voice, as it always happens when he mentions a past in which his family was still together. It doesn’t seem to have dampen Nico’s good mood however. Good. “And what the fuck are you laughing about, you jerk?”

“Just picturing you with a Tuscan accent… I… I can’t it’s too much…” He gets a slap on his shoulder for that, but it hardly matters: Marti is smiling again.

“I’ll have you know that I can do a decent imitation of many Italian accents. Far better than your Emilian. Still gives me nightmares, that one. By the way…. No, I’ve never wondered about that. I am not really one to dwell on the past. I am who I am also because I was raised in Rome, I guess.”

Of course.

It’s hard, impossible really, to picture Martino Rametta moving anywhere else.  
To believe he would leave a place that seems to mirror who he is, with its old but vibrant soul.  
And Niccolò would rather not imagine a life without Marti by his side.

He sure is still fond of Milan – in spite of everything – but he can be content living wherever Marti is happy.

And it’s still Rome, for heaven’s sake. Not Treccase sull’Adda or something.

“I do wonder. But you’re right. It’s stupid. And pointless.”

“Hey, that’s not what I was saying.” He tugs, softly. If he really doesn’t want to face Martino, he’s going to hardly notice that, but if he wants to turn and look at him instead… “If you put it like that, most philosophers are stupid, just because they saw the world from perspective different than mine.”

“And they aren’t?” It’s barely above a whisper, but loud enough for Martino to hear.

He can see the uncertainty in his eyes, and he still wonders how anyone so wonderful can have even the slightest glimpse of self-doubt.

“Not my personal favorite, Niccolò Fares. Ever heard of him? He dishes out some great food for thoughts, and I love him for that.”

“You do?”

“I do.”


	2. Città Eterna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little spin off from the fairy tale AU :) (which WILL BE completed BEFORE S4 comes out)

“You know that it’s okay to admit we’re lost, right? I won’t hold it against you. It’s not like I am in a rush to get back home and watch those two awkwardly dancing around each other, with my sister pretending she’s still hung up on Eva and Edo- ” Usually, he wouldn’t stand to be shushed with a kiss.  
His husband-to-be, however, has such soft lips that he can’t bring himself to be mad about it.

“We are not lost, Fili.” Elia claims, looking and the map and then at prairie around them.  
There’s nothing around them but grass. Which sure makes their horses ecstatic, but that’s not really what they left Esther and her crew – a bunch of pirates called ‘Lupine Smugglers’, can you believe? – for. “It should be here. It’s supposed to be here… They said…”

“Who? The drunkard we met last night, the mermaid this morning… Or Esther? Because, no offence, but none of these three are renowned for giving reliable information.” In fact, it had been Elia himself to warn Fili against believing a single word uttered either by his mother or by merfolk. And well, Filippo had dealt with his fair share of boozers, back when he still was Nori’s bodyguard… 

“None taken. You’re right… I just thought that, for once my mom wasn’t sending me on a wild’s goose chase. Not with Marti’s life hanging by a thread.”

Oh, so that’s what _**this**_ is about. The absurd, fruitless, quest for **The Eternal City** – aka _‘a place where all your wishes come true’_ – has a meaning, suddenly. A purpose.  
Elia is unable to sit this one out and let Martino fight to break the curse on his own. 

“Why didn’t you say so before? I do have a reliable source. If such a place exists, I’m sure Niccolò knows where to find it. ”


	3. Verde, Bianco e Rosso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three drabbles from three different POVs.
> 
> Green - Eleonora  
> White - Silvia  
> Red - Niccolò
> 
> For Doblondoro, who wrote one of the most amazing fics in this fandom (Questa notte è ancora nostra)

**_Verde (Green)_ **

“Nori, come on, be reasonable… You didn’t spend years studying… You didn’t work so hard to end up like for this.”

Like what, exactly, mom?  
It used to hurt, that you couldn’t see me from what I am. Now, I really don’t care if you label me Edo’s trophy wife. If my flower shop, my seminars on how transform one’s balcony into a small Eden and the side projects I’ve got going on with Niccolò. I am quite proud of our unique fragrances and infusions.

What do you want me to do? Leave my little green corner to sit behind a desk, stuck with a job that I hate only to be able to say that I make a bazillion euros a year?  
No, thanks.

“I am reasonable. And I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter. Now… Would you like some herbal tea? Me and Nico recently came up with some very interesting combinations…”

**_Bianco (White)_ **

Is it so wrong, to dream of walking to the altar in a white dress?  
To look so beautiful that people are going to start crying? So utterly divine that even those five idiots – loveable ones, mind you, especially Luchì – would be left speechless?

She is perfectly aware that they don’t it on purpose… but sometimes the other girls make her feel like, yeah, it is a crime against all women in the world to have such a romantic notion of marriage.

Smash the patriarchy, Silvia! Be your own prince charming!

“I think white tulips or orchids would look lovely at my wedding, don’t you think?” She muses aloud, making most of her friends groan.

“Nah, that’s a bit too much white. You should consider peach flowers, they’d look lovely with your complexion.” All eyes are on Nico, now. They would have expected that type of comment from Filippo, but from him? Is it the effect of being in love with a guy? As your gayness level raises, so does your stylishness?

Martino don’t seem to confirm her theory, but maybe he’s the exception?

Or, perhaps, it has something to do with the fact that Niccolò is attending the Fine Arts Academy and – therefore – has got an eye for aesthetically pleasing color palettes?  
Maybe.

“Awww, thank you. Are you picturing blue hyacinths for yours? And red roses, too?” She’d really like to become a wedding planner and get to set up the most important day of this lovely man.

“Totally.”

**_Rosso (Red)_ **

Niccolò has never been a big fan of red. It used to make him uneasy, and then he would get frustrated with himself because nobody else seemed to have such a visceral reaction to something they disliked.  
What kind of drama queen would cry about his mom giving him a red sweater as a present?  
The one and only Niccolò Fares, ladies and gentleman.

“I told her I hate red! Why doesn’t anybody ever listens to me!” He stormed out of the room, leaving all the guests at his birthday party confused and rather uncomfortable. And it took a lot of gentle coaxing from Luai, who made him feel like he wasn’t overreacting for once, to persuade him to go back and send everybody’s home.  
He had managed to ruin his own birthday party, back then. That’s quite the achievement, isn’t it?

Recently, though, he might have changed his mind on the matter.  
Red isn’t anger, violence and blood anymore.  
It’s warmth. It’s softness. It’s Martino.


	4. Reviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Quattro Stagioni (Four Seasons) for Final Countdown Weeks - Day 3

Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?  
For far too long he got away with his sassy restaurant reviews, when he’s not even an accredited food critic.  
Well, it’s not his fault if people find him funny and keep asking for more… **_They_** made his column – ‘the outraged Italian’ – one of the most read in the magazine. Martino is just giving his audience what the want. Contributing to keep afloat the project that got Gio and Eva back together. Born from his best friend’s idea, and nurtured by Eva, it’s like… their baby, you know?  
The ** _least_** he can do is help them out, this time.  
  
And, let’s be honest, it has been a pleasure to tear down those who claim to serve _‘authentic Italian food’_ and then they’ve got chicken on their pizza. Or freaking ‘Alfredo’ in their menus.  
Those who make barely edible lasagna or put huge meatballs in their spaghetti.  
Those who cook a carbonara with vegan salami, mushroom, tabasco and anchovies (anchovies!!) but no guanciale.  
  
Until tonight.  
Here, at the “Four Seasons _”.  
‘What a pretentious name_’ he had thought.  
Surely the poshest place you could find, given that the one of the chefs/owners was a trust fund’s kid with a huge flat near Covent Garden. With a live quartet playing _Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter_ over and over again. 

His expectations, however, were crushed the moment he stepped in.  
Vivaldi’s music can only be heard from a vintage boombox in toilets, first of all. And then, the design of this place is… **_Unique_** , yeah, it’s one way to describe it. Imagine a penguin and a unicorn going on an acid trip and then puking all over the furniture. That’s how it feels like.  
The atmosphere is cozy, joyous, with children busy painting on the walls and playing with their food rather than running around screaming. For them, there’s a menu shaped like a giraffe – what? there’s nothing weird about him perusing the kids’ menu! he’s simply being thorough, that’s all! – with nice colored pictures and all… And then a plain looking – quite boring, really, but in nice shades of red and blue - one for adults.  
  
Enough beating around the bush, all right?  
What he should focus on is not the ambience, but the dishes being served here.  
How karma slammed the door open, walked up to this table and slapped him in the face. How he brought that upon himself.  
Not by tasting unusual but still rather enjoyable starters. No. It was by asking for the chefs to surprise him, and bring him what they believed to be their best main course. Which led to him getting this… thing, and nearly throwing up in his napkin. He thought he had been discreet enough, but he had looked up to find Niccolò Fares himself sitting opposite to him.  
Why was he even there? To make sure he hadn’t accidentally poisoned a client? Who knows. It hardly matters.  
What matters is that he didn't leave, and Marti has all but lost his appetite. For food, anyway.  
For a gentle, gorgeous - and funny! – man, on the other hand…  
  
And now he doesn’t quite know what to do.  
Can he really threaten Niccolò’s career, discrediting all the hard work he had Luca – who is the sweetest, dorkiest and most absurd guy he has met in while… - had done up to this night?  
Can he conveniently forget to mention that the atrocious carbonara was part of an elaborated prank? That the actual one – an ‘unstructured’ version of the same dish, with tuna instead of meat – was not so bad, after all?  
  
“Hey, we’re from Rome ourselves. We allow you to say it’s ‘da bomb’” Niccolò concedes, with air quotes and a fully body laugh.  
  
“Who does even say that anymore? You and your grandpa?” Marti asks, fondly amused by his antics.  
  
“Says the man who raided his gramps’ closet… Anyway, I’m all about setting new trends and bring back old ones, don’t you know?”  
  
Martino doesn’t even have the time to come up with some witty rebuttal, before Niccolò distract him by raising his glass.  
  
“To getting to know each other better, before you give us a 1 star on TripAdvisor and pen down the most scathing review of your life, Mr-I-only-know-blue-as-a-colour?”  
  
“You can call me Martino.”  
  
“Marti it is, then. Nice to meet you. I’m Nico.”


	5. Insegnami la vita, Niccolò

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dal titolo già potete cogliere la profondità e serietà di questa storia.  
> Martedì dovevo fare una lezione ai miei studenti e guarda caso il tema era “Music Festivals”... Potevo forse non approfittarne, immaginandomi Nico come insegnante di Martino ;) ?
> 
> Prompt: Festival (Day 4)

  
Ah-ha!

Adesso la capisce, la spossante insistenza di sua madre nel convincerlo ad andare a lezione al suo posto.  
Sicuramente, anche il timore di disturbare i compagni - chiedendo appunti e registrazioni - avrà giocato la sua parte… ma **questo** non può essere un caso.

E con _' **questo** '_ intende l'insegnante fregno. Ma **fregno-fregno** , come direbbe Luchì. Tanta roba, per citare Federica.  


Avrà un paio di anni in più di lui e, a quanto pare, sta facendo qui il tirocinio per l'università.  
Ha un finto accento _british_ che solitamente a Marti farebbe venire l'orticaria, ma che in bocca Niccolò lo rende soltanto più adorabile. Come se ce ne fosse bisogno. Perché no, non poteva essere bello e stronzo. O di quelli che un po' se la tirano - o così pare - finché non li conosci meglio. Alla Edoardo Incanti, insomma.

No. È bello come il sole e buono come il pane.

Ha un entusiasmo sconfinato per la musica e per l'inglese, e Martino sarebbe volentieri ad ascoltarlo per ore.

Peccato tocchi a lui parlare, ora.

Cioè, ha già monopolizzato gran parte della lezione punzecchiando Nico - e a chiedersi quanto (risposta: 'na cifra) renderebbe meglio se lo potesse fare in italiano - per cui si sente un po' in colpa ad essere pure quello che espone il lavoro di gruppo…

Ma hanno così insistito, gli altri!

Dicono che gran parte delle idee per il festival che hanno creato vengono da lui. Perciò è giusto che sia Marti ad avere l'occasione di fare bella figura con Niccolò, no?

Borbotta che non capisce di cosa stiano parlando, chiedendosi che diavolo vada in giro a dire, di lui, sua madre e se davvero il suo colpo di fulmine per sto tizio sia così evidente.

"As glad as I am to keep listening to the sound of your lovely voice, Marti I'd rather hear someone else from your group… " Viene subito interrotto. Resta così ipnotizzato dal sorriso di Niccolò, che alla fine gli è andata pure bene che il compito di esporre sia andato a Ludovica.

Che s'è offerta volontaria, pur non avendo aperto bocca fino a quel momento!

La sua voce è poco più di un sussurro, e tiene gli occhi fissi sul pavimento. Niccolò, tuttavia, è chiaramente molto orgoglioso che abbia voluto esporsi così. Tutti la ascoltano rapiti, e c'è un senso di cameratismo tra queste mura che a Marti ricorda un po' gli anni delle superiori con i Contrabbandieri.  
Adesso gli è chiaro perché mamma ci sia rimasta tanto male, a non poter frequentare per un paio di settimane.

Sarà l'influenza di un certo insegnante?

È un vero peccato che questa sia l'ultima volta che lo vedrà. Perché insomma, a malapena lo conosce quindi non è che puoi invitarlo fuori per un caffè… che poi si protrarrà fino a diventare una chiacchierata davanti ad un buon piatto di pasta... una colazione insieme… No, no. 

Manteniamo un minimo di contegno. Di dignità.

"Ehi Marti, te la cavi piuttosto bene ma se mai t'interessasse migliorare la tua già ragguardevole dimestichezza con l'inglese…" Viene fermato poco prima di uscire, con una mano sulla spalla. Non se la laverà mai più. Ci tatuerà sopra la data in cui un semidio l'ha sfiorato.  
Cazzo, la situazione è grave. Si sta trasformando in Silvietta.

Non esattamente professionale prendere gli studenti per il culo, comunque, ma Niccolò non sembra importare. Anzi. Si diverte!

Ehhh… lo vedi che alla fine un po' stronzetto lo è?

"Che c'è, ti stai offrendo di darmi lezioni private?" Che non sa nemmeno se può permettersi ma sulle quali già mettere la firma. Roba da manuale. Il manuale su come essere dei sottoni assurdi su tizi incontrati giusto un'ora fa, scritto di suo pugno. Un bestseller.

"Esatto. Ti andrebbe di discuterne davanti a un caffè?" 

E già lì sente, gli echi delle prese per il culo che gli toccheranno.

Non perderanno occasione di ricordargli che avrebbe potuto benissimo chiedere ad Eleonora, quelli.

"Sì, perché no? Offri tu, però…" Ecco, rendiamogli subito chiaro quanto Martino sia pulciaro.

"Allora ti porto in un posto davvero fichissimo. Spaziale. Preparati a rimanere sbalordito, caro mio." 

Ah, su questo Martino non ha alcun dubbio.

Quest'uomo sembra nato per meravigliarlo.

E questo è solo l'inizio.


	6. L'amico ritrovato?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ma sí! Mi mancano ancora il "day 5 / day 6" della prima settimana per cui avevo in effetti delle idee... Per uscirmene con questa flashfic.  
> E vabbè.

Sono stata io, la cattiva della situazione.  
Be', certo.  
Mai una colpa, tu.  
Che hai nascosto, mentito, e rigirato le cose tanto quanto me.  
Prima Luai, poi Martino... Scusa, ma io cosa avrei dovuto pensare?

Okay, okay. Diamoci una calmata.  
Son sempre posata e razionale, io.  
Ho sempre dato tutto, fatto del mio meglio.  
Non ho rimpianti, né rimorsi.

È finita da tempo, ormai.  
Non dovrei lasciare che la tua assenza al mio compleanno - che per anni abbiamo festeggiato insieme - mi intristisca a tal punto.  
Non ti porto alcun rancore, Nico, anche se potrebbe sembrare diversamente. Vorrei fosse lo stesso per te.

Mi manchi. Mi manca l'amico con cui andavo a ballare, che mi faceva morire dalle risate con le sue mosse improponibili. Mi mancano gli assurdi esperimenti culinari, e la torta immangiabile che ogni anno ti sei ostinato a preparare. Mi mancano perfino le giornate passate a letto... per intossicazione alimentare.  
Le lunghe chiamate mentre guardavamo lo stesso telefilm, e non ci trovavamo mai d'accordo su chi fosse il personaggio migliore.

Non è il mio ex, a mancarmi.  
È Colino. L'allampanato ragazzino con la testa gonfia di riccioli, a cui non bastavano mai i fazzoletti ed un giorno si pulì con la mia manica.  
Che s'aspettava che io dicessi "Ewww, che schifo" come ogni persona normale - Maddi, davvero, dovremmo smetterla di usare quella parola - ed invece t'avevo offerto un pacchetto e apostrofato con un "Ehi! Magari la prossima volta usa questi!"  
Che era scoppiato a ridere, allora, e la cui risata aveva scosso tutto il corpo. 

Il Colino che sapeva distrarmi da un pomeriggio di studio disperato costruendo un fortino di cuscini nel mio salotto.  
Che oggi avrebbe radunato tutti quanti per intonare un "Tanti auguri a te", ed invece... 

Manco un messaggio, mi merito.  
Manco un pensiero.  
Ma va bene così. Son felice per te, davvero.  
So che ciò che hai con Martino è profondo, sincero, e vi auguro ogni bene.  
So che stai procedendo dritto per la tua strada, e che saprai sempre rialzarti.  
So che ora hai trovato la persona che davvero sa come sostenerti, darti una mano quando sei un po' azzoppato senza tentare di fermarti per evitare che tu ti faccia nuovamente del male. 

Se per il quieto vivere devo essere la cattiva, se ti serve pensar questo di me per essere in pace con te stesso e con l'aver calpestato la nostra amicizia... Me lo dovrò far andar bene. Mi ci dovrò rassegnare, prima o poi.  
Andare avanti, dimenticandoti del tutto.

"Maddi? Ehi? Ti sta suonando il cellulare. È Niccolò."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chissà cosa si saran detti al telefono... Auguri e scuse?


	7. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can one really be given the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?  
> Martino is about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Week 2, Day 6: Secrets

It shouldn't hurt you, but it does.  
It shouldn't matter to you, but it does.  
Niccolò knows who you were, before that fateful day in the radio booth.  
The gritty details about the spring in your third year.

Why can't you grant the same trust?  
Does he really think you'd judge him?  
Or it simply too painful to be recalled, relived, and the fact that you are even making such a big deal out of this makes you the worst boyfriend on Earth?

It's quite hypocritical of you, when Giovanni never learnt about the part you played in his break up with Eva.   
You are aware of that, thank you. **Well** aware.

It's not rational, it's not specific.  
You are not scared you're gonna lose Nico to his past, or in the future. You aren't jealous of those people he doesn't want tell you about.  
You are just terrified, and you don't know what about what.

Of turning into you father, who kept a whole other family hidden for years?  
Or your mother, who wouldn't simply turn **a** blind eye to his omissions - they never were blatant lies - but two?

Secrets, you guess.  
No matter how you try to avoid them, and be honest... They keep haunting you, and they will end you.  
Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to try and write two more drabbles/flashfics, one about the grandmas (for the "Italian proverbs and sayings" from Week 1, and a silly one about football from Luchino's POV... hence the 9 chapters :D )


End file.
